


Spoilt

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Comedy, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fetish, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hartwin, Kink Exploration, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, No Spoilers, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Praise Kink, Prostate Milking, Romance, Sex Toys, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Smut, ruined orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-08 07:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Eggsy has got a bit too used to getting his own way.  Harry teaches him a lesson: good things come to those who wait.Not so much undiluted porn as double strength concentrate, and could be considered as the same version of the relationship as Equilibrium.Now complete! With final double-chapter! Don't say I never do anything for you, huh?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've set this in a maybe canon divergent, maybe choose your own headcanon, whatever version of an established Hartwin relationship works for you... this should just sit into it. As such it's from the same version of them in my head as Equilibrium, but this one's from Eggsy's side and just back to back sex scenes. Have fun!

Eggsy fucks for all he's worth, his hands pushed into the muscles over Harry's shoulder blades for balance, rucking up the meat of his back.

Harry is lost in it, arms slung onto the duvet either side of his head where they collapsed from holding him up, half his face pressed down into the bed, muffling the stream of  _ god yes _ and  _ right there _ and crisp, breathy swearing that makes Eggsy’s head swim with proud gratification. He's doing that -  fucking Harry just how he's learned he likes it -  and he knows how much he enjoys the times he can come just from Eggsy’s cock. They might just make it at this rate, but the sweat is streaming down Eggsy’s back and the pleasure is curling up from his hips, threatening to cut it short. 

Harry's voice is beautifully desperate. 

“Keep going. Just like that. ”

“Harry, I don't think I can last.” Eggsy tries anyway, keeping up the same pace and angle until he's forced to admit he won't be able to hold out . “I've got to slow down, babes.” He lets his head drop back. He's teetering, gritting his teeth, every nerve screaming impending orgasm and it's wonderful, Harry's body is heaven; his voice is stretched out, near broken:

“Don’t stop,  _ fuck, don't stop, _ I'm going to come.”

So Eggsy doesn't stop and just hopes to all hell he can see it through to Harry's climax.

But he can't help beating him to it. He tries, he really does, but the clenching wet velvet grip of Harry's body and the heated flattery in his voice is too much: pleasure bolts through Eggsy without grace or warning; he spills into Harry blissfully, reluctantly, with a stutter of his hips and something like a whimper. He does his best to keep going even after but it's a scarce few thrusts before his cock insists he's having a laugh and shrinks away from its own oversensitivity, forcing him to stop. 

Eggsy doesn't give in to the temptation to collapse into Harry's back. He has to do his best to ignore the whine of dismay as he pulls out, turns Harry over by the hips and quickly replaces his cock with three fingers, slipping easily in his come and the space he's fucked open. He finds his target and rubs as forcefully as all the slickness will let him, ducking down less to suck Harry's cock than to give him his mouth to buck into as he rides out the orgasm he'd been so close to… god, he'd been  _ so  _ close, if Eggsy had just had another few seconds in him… 

Still, Harry flops down boneless, panting, from the tense arc he's twisted himself into whilst he came, staring unseeing at the ceiling, and pats Eggsy comfortingly on the sweaty thigh in a way that strongly implies the words  _ good show old chap. _ Eggsy swallows and snorts to himself deliriously at the thought, basking in the easy comfort of a job well done even though Harry is obviously going to wind him up something chronic about blowing his load too quickly. 

“It’s terribly rude to pip your lover to the post quite like that, you know?” 

Yeah, there he goes. 

Eggsy laughs and doesn't apologise: Harry is flushed and smiling, clearly satisfied anyway and that's the exact tone of voice he once used to get Eggsy writing lines at a school desk for not wearing lacy lingerie under his suit on a Wednesday as per his arbitrary instruction. Because of course he picked the one week Eggsy forgot to conduct a bloody spot check.

Turns out Harry, under the gentlemanly exterior and the cold professionalism, is a sketchy old perv, and Eggsy is besotted with him. Enough so that he does wear ridiculous women's knickers willingly on a weekly basis and ends up hard in them on and off all day just knowing that he's doing it because Harry told him to.

So he's not bothered when Harry follows up with “Honestly boy, where are your manners?” In the way that suggests he's about to be taught some, because he can't imagine he won't enjoy it. 

They don't do pain, really, it turns out nothing above a bit of a smack on the arse is their cup of tea but god, Eggsy loves being told off. He hates it, it makes him all hot at the back of his neck and riles him up into gormless, feisty stupidity and then he forces himself to do as he's told, just because it's harry, and Harry rewards him with all that  _ good boy Eggsy _ shit and fuck, he has no idea why that turns him on so much, but it normally ends in something involving an orgasm and then a nice cuddle so it's all very lovely thank you. 

He pokes his tongue out. “Don't got none, apparently.”

Harry gasps theatrically. “Is that so?” He leans over for a gentle kiss and yeah, that shower can wait another ten minutes, Eggsy isn't convinced his legs will hold him up now anyway. Quite how Harry’s teeth against his jaw under his ear sends a shiver through him when he's still getting his breath back, he isn't sure. “We might have to do something about that, mightn't we?”

Eggsy mumbles a noncommittal noise into Harry’s collarbone but he knows what he's said is  _ yes please.  _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eggsy's first lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, told you there was plenty more where this came from! I'm undecided on whether I'm doing a scene per chapter, I might lump a few in together at some point. Comments and prompts always gratefully received.

Eggsy is whisking up an omelette for breakfast, standing by the sink so that he can dump the eggs into the pan and the bowl into the washing up in one long turn. Protein, efficiency… it's his day off, he could probably have pushed the boat out on a lie in and a fry up but he knows Harry is trying to watch his cholesterol intake and Christ, they are so _married_ sometimes. It makes Eggsy chuckle to himself, the idea of his completing a line up of pampered trophy socialites and bored middle aged women at some country estate whilst their husbands play cards and talk politics: this thoroughly domesticated 25 year old lad who’s gone so shamelessly head over heels for their Harry Hart that he automatically thinks about his health - or more likely his vanity - whilst he cooks him Sunday breakfasts.

The man himself wanders into the kitchen, crosses it in a couple of slow, seemingly purposeless strides but then he's up against Eggsy’s bare back, kissing at the side of his neck, his nose in Eggsy’s hair. His hands roam to grope over Eggsy’s chest and stomach and Eggsy forgets to whisk. Eventually he sets the bowl on the counter..

“Good morning,” Harry says, conversationally, as if he isn't feeling him up. Eggsy answers with a kiss to Harry's temple: the closest thing to his lips as Harry mouthes along the top of his shoulders.

“Ain’t it.”

Harry's hands wander, following the sharp lines of Eggsy’s hipbones down into his low-slung pyjama bottoms, his right hand fidgeting past the elastic to dip in and get a grip on Eggsy’s cock... _Yeah… the omelette can fuck off_... never doubting he'd find it rock hard and leaking just enough to ease the sticking of the skin.

Still, Harry is cautiously gentle, avoiding too much friction by stroking with his fingertips, teasing with the backs of his knuckles, spreading the gathering slickness around the head with his thumb and Eggsy lets his weight settle back against Harry's body, head resting on his shoulder. Eggsy gets about a quarter of what’s shaping up to be a pretty decent handjob before Harry slows down and gives him a squeeze.

“Right. Let's see if you can't learn some patience.”

Oh, yeah. They've done this one before. It's maddening and wonderful: Harry had walked in on him having a wank one time and before Eggsy could get embarrassed about it he'd found himself with his hands cable tied behind his back, effectively helpless on their bed whilst Harry teased him bloody stupid. Every time he'd dragged him up to the edge of orgasm and pulled him back, it seemed to move the bar higher and when it happened Eggsy didn't think he'd ever come so hard or so much in his life. It felt like his bones had melted. Yeah. He's well up for a repeat of that.

Harry pulls a chair out from the kitchen table and sits down, yanking Eggsy bodily to sit on his lap and with anyone else Eggsy would be conscious of his weight but Harry dwarfs him, somehow makes lifting and carrying him about and bearing the bulk of him look and feel like a perfectly normal thing for a man his age to be doing so effortlessly, whereas in actual fact it's just a reminder of Harry's strength, of the power in him, of everything _else_  he's capable of… Eggsy's cock twitches.

He spreads his balance across Harry's thighs so he can just feel the pleasing heat of Harry’s erection nudging up against his coccyx, and settles back against his chest, laying himself out  for Harry to play with and giving his consent for whatever test or game is on the cards. It doesn't feel like it going to be much of a hardship, plus something about how prone he feels like this is definitely exciting. Eggsy welcomes gentle kisses and scrapes of teeth on the side of his neck with a sigh and a shift of his hips.

Harry spits in his hand and there's a coarse, hurried functionality to that which makes the pit drop out of Eggsy's stomach and his cock throb. It looks like Harry's going to make this quick and dirty and Eggsy can't really see how that's going to teach him much of anything except that he's a lucky git, but it's not like he's not well aware which side his bread is buttered.

Maybe a quick work up means Harry's going to back off and start again, over and over until Eggsy is mindless with it, gagging and desperate, teased out to such a high that it takes him ages to come down, shaking in Harry's lap. He's already thinking about how it's going to blow his mind. He's already thinking about how he's going to blow Harry after, right here because it does something wonderful to Harry to see Eggsy literally go to his knees on the floor for him rather than sucking him off in their bed or anything that implies for a moment that comfort is more important than Eggsy having Harry's cock down his throat. He'd not admit he thinks about it that way, but Eggsy's just fine with it.

Eggsy flares and burns. He's never the hardest to please first thing and Harry's purposeful, eager hands are a rare indulgence for his morning horn, Harry normally being late to bed late to rise in every sense and far too grouchy before two coffees to indulge Eggsy's exuberance, let alone spontaneously take it upon himself to get him off. 

He keeps expecting him to stop and make him wait for it but Harry's lips and tongue are eager at his nech, his jaw; Harry's hands are expert, massive and gun callused and effortlessly, _deadly_ precise and just like that Eggsy is squirming, arching from the small of his back...

“Don't come yet.”

As if it's that simple. Like he's just asked Eggsy to boil the kettle rather than to slam the emergency brakes on and park on a pinhead when he's still working his cock, and Eggsy may be a capable young man with some highly unusual skills but he couldn't abort orgasm at this point if there was a gun to his head.

And there isn't, there's nothing to pour cold water on it however much he tries to slow himself down. Alright, maybe he doesn't try that hard because it's not like Harry _needs_ him to last, not like before: he's just enjoying playing with Eggsy’s body and teasing him with words when physically it's just pleasure on pleasure and his cock hitches in Harry’s beautifully rhythmic slick grip, starting to pulse with impending release.

And then that grip is gone, just as he tips over the crest of pleasure. Harry takes his hand away with a flourish, leaving Eggsy's cock to jerk and spasm and without that last bit of stimulation, spurting hot and white and helpless even as orgasm disappears from his reach.

Eggsy wails. It's an incredulous, frustrated noise that ends in a shocked laugh, because... what? He just _saw_ himself come but his body is telling him he hasn't yet, insides twisting up in need and desperation and a sweat prickling at his chest and face. His hand is on his cock in no seconds flat and off again just as quickly, like it's burned him: he can't bear to be touched. He's weak in Harry's lap. suspended in that frustrated high place just before the payoff he knows isn't going to happen. It's awful and… he kind of loves it? That's fucked up.

The quirk of Harry's eyebrows tells him that was not accidental. That this is a thing, possibly one he was aiming for the entire time. That Eggsy isn't the first human to experience this horrific, weirdly enjoyable sensory limbo which is just starting to ebb away into a frustrated, aching simmer. He squirms, sweaty and unravelled, but Harry holds him close.

“What the fuck, Harry.” He swivels, slinging his legs round to sit sideways across Harry's lap. His prick is still swollen, slow to give up even in the face of defeat but gradually softening against his thigh and Eggsy wishes he could say that was a relief of any sort.

Harry looks fascinated. He dips his fingers in the come spattered on their legs as if to verify that it's there, that it isn't any different for being given so grudgingly. He looks at it on the end of his fingers, thoughtfully.

“What're you feeling?”

“Like… I came but I didn't?” Now he mentions it, Eggsy is surprised by the simple accuracy of his description, despite not really understanding what he's feeling. Can you even have half an orgasm? Like, shoot off without actually coming? Experience appears to say yes.  “Jesus. my balls are telling me I'm done, the rest of me feels like it blinked and missed the big finish.”

Harry nods, like this is normal, like this is exactly what he was expecting. And just… What?!

“I was rather hoping for that. I thought it was about time you learned the joys of delayed gratification.”

“Joy?! This is not joy.” Eggsy stares at him but the look is more confusion than anger, a little incredulous humour in it. He blinks his widened eyes and shakes his head. “There is no joy here, Harry. I feel like I've just been sucked off by a dementor. Like my knob will never experience happiness again. What have you done?”

Harry cuddles him around the waist in comfort and Eggsy allows him a kiss.

“Nonsense. You'll be back up and ready for active duty in half an hour like you normally are, you infuriating specimen-”

“Is this another jealous thing?”

“No thank you.” Harry scoffs at him even whilst he's softly petting at Eggsy's hips and legs, soothing some of the uncomfortable excitement from his skin. “I have at least learned some restraint since I was capable of knocking one out and bouncing back so quickly.” The incongruousnes of Harry _knocking one out_ tickles Eggsy but he doesn't get a chance to laugh. “And when you do the same I might just let you have a proper orgasm.”

Eggsys stomach executes a perfect double tuck flip.   _Let_ him? That voice... and that description, so subtly in tune with that failure of a climax which is still zipping confusedly around his body...Harry's almost bored tone brooks no challenge or question, and Eggsy is immediately helpless for it. It's a guilty thing, almost, how he's always wanted to fight everyone who assumed anything over him and yet all Harry has to do is look at him the right way and he just melts. But it feels good, and Harry has never abused his power any more than the exact right amount to leave Eggsy with shaking legs and a grin plastered on his face like a prat for days at a time. This, whatever _this_ is, is going to be wonderful.

He almost ventures a contrite response ending in an honorific but he wouldn't be sure which to use, and, post orgasm, he isn't quite brave enough. So he settles for ducking his head submissively under Harry's chin and savouring the heat of their skin, the sturdiness of Harry's grip around him, for a few quiet moments before decisively standing, shaking himself out and getting back to serving Harry his breakfast. That will do.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Down and down we go...

Harry’s “come here” is an invitation more than an an order -  Eggsy can infer the difference in tone despite it not sounding like a question - but there's still something commanding about it. As if he'd say no anyway. As if the gritty warmth of Harry's voice doesn't still make excitement tickle at his stomach and up his back, unexpected though it is whilst he’s raiding dresser drawers for a bottle green or slate grey pocket square. Sage would do at a push, but he won't make Harry wait for him.

For Harry, the last phase of getting dressed is what takes all the time. The suit goes on in a blink, like a second skin, weapons all in position, present and correct instantly: it’s faffing about with his hair and his cufflinks and the knot on his tie that takes forever. Eggsy is the opposite. He leaves the dressing to the last possible second to minimise the chance that he'll spill something on his shirt or splash toothpaste on his suit or god knows what but he'd manage to dishevel himself somehow if he was in it for any longer than he has to be.

This is why, when Harry beckons him to him, Harry is fully dressed and Eggsy is barefoot in his snug suit trousers and fuck all else.

Or perhaps it's because Harry chooses that second on purpose, so that Eggsy will pad over as bidden to stand eye level with Harry’s immaculate, freshly shaved jaw whilst he drags a hungry gaze unashamedly over Eggsy’s mostly bare body, up to his face in time to catch him biting his bottom lip in a moment of woefully unsubtle hope and back down as slowly as they please. So that Eggsy will find himself trembling - shit, actually trembling - in front of him, exposed and waiting.

_Low move Hart. Low move._

Harry pulls him forward with a hand in the small of his back and twirls them effortlessly to trap Eggsy up against the wall, kisses falling on his jaw, down his neck, following the trail of his aftershave and bringing up tingling gooseflesh down his back.

“How was your shower?”

That's a loaded question. He's asking whether Eggsy’s already got himself off, because he knows there’s a decent chance: Eggsy’s a morning person and he was in the bathroom a while. Harry has no real reason to gather that’s because he was pissing about with the conditioner, seeing what he’d look like with a mohawk.

Fucked if he's letting him have his answer that easily, so he just smiles. “Lovely, thank you.” Harry will have to work a bit harder if he wants Eggsy to play along with this one.

Undeterred, Harry tracks a hand quickly to Eggsy’s trousers and has those and his boxer briefs down to his thighs in seconds. Eggsy stiffens obligingly towards his hands, his voice, and the speed of that reaction probably gives him away. Harry’s every move is purposeful; he’s swiped a bottle of lube from the dressing table and, see, this is why Eggsy doesn't get dressed until the last moment. His boyfriend’s an unpredictable, randy old tart and fuck trying to get jizz out of Kevlar wool blend.

It'stoo easy. You don't get to be an international spy without learning to put things together and Eggsy has a horrible feeling he knows where this is going, but that doesn't stop him thoroughly enjoying Harry slicking him up with a generous handful of lube and starting a comfortable pace, circling his cock with a loose grip and stroking him slow and steady.

“Ah, yeah. S’good.” Eggsy tips his head back involuntarily against the wall, stretching his body out. “Fuck, you're good to me, eh? Starting my day off so nicely. Didn’t even have to poke you with it.” There’s a false levity to his voice: he's just calling Harry out, really. _You're not subtle. I know you don't get ready early to give me handjobs for no reason._

“How…” -a threatening little squeeze - “.. _.patient_ are we feeling?”

Eggsy just snorts a cut-off laugh and closes his eyes. He can't find it in him to complain or squirm away, even once the idea fully forms in his mind: his body is far too engrossed in the easy, quick slide of Harry’s palm to be deterred by logic. Anyway, maybe he'll just surprise them both. He wasn't so in need when they started that keeping his responses under control is necessarily a losing battle _just_ yet.

He scuffs his own hand down Harry’s body but Harry pushes it away and the result is no distraction for either of them. Harry’s hands are methodical and Eggsy is already  gasping, glad of the wall to hold him up, not doing anywhere near as well on the composure front as he’d like to be. He might even moan.

Just at the point Eggsy’s skin starts fizzing with the need for resistance, for friction, Harry tightens his hold just so. And then the lube starts to go tacky: there's still enough slip to keep from any discomfort but the extra drag on the skin is timed right when Eggsy needs it and oh, that's good. Too good: Harry is trying to get him off, quickly, and he's not going to have any trouble.

It somehow reminds Eggsy of maths lessons. He wasn't bad at maths. He'd probably have scraped a B grade if it hadn't been seen as some sort of class disloyalty to do well at anything, and he wonders now if there's not a little conspiracy to be found in that -   _get them down and make them feel like they're traitors if they even try to succeed._ Still, the fact of the matter is that being wanked off this efficiently reminds him of plotting a graph: a slow steady climb left to right, so definite in its diagonal that when you run out of numbers and you're asked, you know exactly where that line’s going, what the next number should be. And it's just as inevitable now because Harry's still jerking his cock with that faultless, just-right pace, consistent and perfect and Eggsy is still going to come even though he's thinking about his maths GCSE..

Harry can sense it.

“Wait.” The instruction is low, calm… almost threatening and well, that just doesn't help at all, but then, Harry's never offered to play fair and Eggsy has never asked. “Wait for it.”

 _Then_ Eggsy writhes, wriggling back into the wall as if that will take him from Harry's hand and only serving to remind him of the solid bulk of Harry trapping him there, forearm braced beside Eggsy’s head, body held far enough back that he can see him, or so that he won’t get his suit wrinkled whilst he tosses Eggsy off, calm as you like.

“Stop then! I can't hold off with you doing that.” It's alarmingly true, too. He's hurtling towards orgasm and if that's not what Harry wants he's going the wrong way about it.

“Hmm.” Harry seems to consider the predicament, hand still working along the length of Eggsy’s cock, lube squishing loudly as he twists over the head. “That's most unfortunate for you.”

“Oh come on.” Eggsy squirms, not really sure if he's really trying to pull away or just rutting into Harry’s fist: he's too close to care, surely any progress is better than stopping now. No, of course he could slip free… Harry’s not even touching him other than the hand around his cock, maddeningly steady as that is;  isn’t pinning him in place with any more than a heated stare and sheer force of will but god, he needs it, and if Eggsy stops him now he won’t get _anything._

“That feels so good…” He lets himself moan it. If Harry wants to know how badly he wants it before he finishes him off, that’s not exactly a problem: “Fuck, Harry, I’m so close. Don't you want to see me come for you?”

“You'll regret it.”

 _Oh fuck_. Full reality dawns just as the sparks start flaring out through Eggsy’s body: Harry's going to sabotage his orgasm again, going to rob him of that release and leave him feeling desperate and helpless,  the very thought of that makes him pulse with need and excitement and _you are fucking kidding me._ He's going to come over not fucking coming, and there’s nothing he can do -

“Oh god, no, Harry, seriously, just let me-”

Harry stops moving at the exact point Eggsy crosses the line of no return and just squeezes, leaving Eggsy’s prick without stimulation for those crucial few seconds as the pressure hits breaking point. Eggsy tries desperately to ignore the feelings, to tune them out and will it away and just hold out for a few seconds until Harry completes the circuit, _please…_

Bbut it happens again. He comes but he doesn't come. The sensations drop away just as he willed them to, without reaching the proper climax, but there is his cock, softening resignedly whilst it drips weak pulses of his spunk over Harry’s hand. And there is the buzzing under his skin like he's about to come, like he needs to, but now there's nothing to be done for it because he's spent and already too sensitive for Harry's hand around him because oh, _now_ he moves.

The whine that comes out of Eggsy is mortifying.

“Stop. _Braces._ Stop. _”_

Harry’s hand is gone, quick as anything, held up in a parody of innocence because Harry obviously knew that would be happening.

“Braces to me touching you just now? Or to this game in general?” He sounds, for the first time, uncertain. Softer. “Because I can comfort you but I’m afraid I can't put it right until you're physically ready…”

Eggsy shakes his head. It's always been a little difficult for him to wrap his mind around,  when it comes to things Harry isn’t physically forcing him to do. He figures you can't use a safeword to stop someone _not_ doing something to you, or to negate a valid criticism... It's in place of a stop, not some magic panacea to get you what you want without let or hinderance forever and he wouldn't use it if it was. Where's the fun in playing, if you cheat?  It's not as though Harry wouldn't want him if he didn’t want to play at all. Harry had been more than interested in the vanilla, closer to unscented stores-own-brand version of Eggsy he'd had to presume he was until presented with evidence to the contrary, and it isn't always layered up with roleplay, even now: enthusiastic mutual blowjobs and low-key bedtime fondle fucking probably still outnumber anything else a few to one, but Eggsy is pretty fond of crawling about on Harry's floor in a collar and pants pretending he's some sort of sex slave, revelling in how Harry looks like he's won the fucking lottery when he has him like that even when he's trying to be all stern and commanding. It's nice to be with someone who can get underneath the skin of the ridiculous things that make him hard and make them real, even when he doesn't quite understand them himself.

“Nah Harry, just give me a cuddle, hands to yourself, and let me get dressed, yeah? I'm… I'm fine with the rest.” Eggsy thinks he might have gone completely fucking mental as he says it, but he doesn't want to stop. The weird hollow feeling it's left him with is strangely exciting: he's been preoccupied constantly since Harry first threatened to teach him his lesson, sex brained like the early days and the more he thinks about it the more interested he is in seeing where this goes.

Besides, Harry would be so disappointed if he gave up. There'll be method to this, some reason Harry wants to torment him, and if that reason was simply that Harry enjoyed it Eggsy knows he'd do it anyway, but he has some suspicions.

“I'm learning, int I?” Eggsy preens in his obedience, fishing for the praise that will tell him if he's right.

“You are. You will.” And there he goes, that tone that makes the hairs on the backs of Eggsy’s neck and arms stand up. Harry pulls him close, turning him around so as to avoid getting lube and come on his suit. He's pristine, of course; Eggsy is a mess; there's a puddle of it on the carpet - he's assaulted with a vivid momentary image of Harry grabbing him by the back of the head and making him lick it up, which sends an unwelcome jolt of arousal through his whole body. Seriously, not now. “You're doing very well. Good boy for sticking at it.”

Eggsy hears himself gasp and Harry fusses at him, big hands in his hair, kissing at the side of his face whilst Eggsy nuzzles into the touch, pushing closer to Harry and whimpering at the contact. He _might_ play up how much he aches, how pitiful he is in his helpless overstimulation, his frustration plain in his fresh sweat and the trembling of his body into Harry's hands, to see if that’s what’s doing it for him. He laughs when he feels Harry's erection against his hip.

“You're hard, you bloody freak." He shifts back against it. "Enjoying ourselves, are we? Getting off on the power trip a bit?”

Harry smiles slowly, broadly, ever so slightly chagrin. “I must admit there's something very appealing about you all meek and desperate.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy turns and blinks wide eyes up at him, only half in parody.  “Having me at your mercy, willing to do whatever you tell me to? Desperate to please?”

He hadn’t realised until the words are half way out of his mouth but of course Harry is. Eggsy forgets, sometimes, that this is not one sided - that he has plenty to bring to the table and Harry isn't just benevolently indulging him - but Harry is searingly, wonderfully aroused from watching him sort-of come; that guilty, feverish interest in his submissive discomfort stoically pressed down because he doesn't want to push it any further. Well, Eggsy is nothing if not full of surprises, and there are plenty of more fun ways to show Harry he is on board with this than actually saying so .

Harry's eyes smoulder and burn at him when Eggsy repays his cruelty by trailing his hands down the broad plane of Harry's chest as he drops down to his knees, intentions clear, no messing about.   _Do what you want with me, Harry. I trust you. You can tease and deny me all you want. You'll still get yours. No complaints from me._

He wasn't expecting this. Harry was evidently planning on just wanking Eggsy off and sending him on his way with a slap on the arse, even though he was obviously hard: that wasn't the point. The point was to work on Eggsy’s restraint again, almost clinically, and the thought makes Eggsy shudder. Harry had not been anticipating anything in return… for making him suffer? Okay, maybe he should be sulking if anything and yet Eggsy feels compelled to prove his obedience, just to mess with Harry's head.

"Eggsy..." Harry blinks at him, knocked sideways by the abrupt turnaround, by the sudden prospect of his interest going from academic and invested to practical and immediately gratified. He looks as though he might be about to voice an attempt at protest because he feels like he has to, because he was unprepared, and he's stuggling to come up with something adequately gentlemanly in the face of what he actually wants. He splays his hands, looking helpless. 

“Don't worry,” Eggsy manages a cocky smile and his best subservient doe eyes, working the button and zip of Harry's fly in one double handed movement, tipping him a wink, and making a show of smoothing Harry's trousers. “Won't spill a drop, I promise.”

“Christ, Eggsy.”

A hand goes into his hair, big and suddenly clumsy: Harry might not have wanted to ask this of him, under the circumstances, but he's far too tempted by Eggsy's willing service to say no, and Eggsy is only too pleased to work off the last of his nervous energy on the floor for him, showing Harry how grateful he is for his thoughtful lessons, for his patience.

Harry gets to come in his mouth, and Eggsy is left wanting.

And _oh,_ how he wants.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in two days?! Yeah, don't expect me to keep that up. I am, however, very grateful for encouragement, feedback and prompts, either here or on Tumblr where you will find me under randomactsofviolence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wrote this as notes, as I usually do, in Googledocs over weeks. Loaded the document, loaded the Ao3 entry... drank a bottle of wine, scrapped most of the document and wrote the majority of this entirely off the cuff. Why? Couldn't tell you. I'll be back sooner or later to work out if this was a brilliant or terrible idea. In the meantime, feel free to prod me on Tumblr.

It's their first full night in together with nothing to get up early for in longer than Eggsy can easily recall and by then he hasn't come in well over a week. Well, he has in the truest sense, and that's enough to keep him from spunking in his sleep or anything mortifying like that, but it doesn't feel like much consolation. Harry never explicitly said he couldn't have a wank if he wanted but he gets the feeling that would be exploiting a loophole and Harry is having so much fun with his desperation he's found himself fantasising about it, weirdly. Just absently daydreaming about how it feels to be stuck in that orgasmic freeze frame before it all shatters around him, one way or the other; musing on how and when he will crack it and ‘win’; whether Harry  will soon take pity on him and give up or just keep on somehow milking his cock so he can go on like this as long as he wants, with true full release this distant memory that Eggsy will do anything to get Harry to let him have.  _ Anything. _

He's gone for this one hook line and sinker, hasn't he.  
  
The whole day has been sort of lovely: a relaxed load of not much. After a lazy morning, a begrudged supermarket trip and a gym session for Harry, a long bath for Eggsy who has more than earned the day off,  they'd taken JB for a walk down to the park. Just around the edge because it was full of fucking tourists, which always means they’re out longer than they want to be. There's apparently something about a hard looking lad with a pug wuffling about at his ankles that makes girls really silly, and apparently oblivious to the presence of, let alone significance of, the older man standing happily a pace back whilst they flirt at Eggsy and squeal at the dog, how cute and gorgeous he is and  _yeah, the dog is pretty sweet too. I know_.  It always adds up to that extra thrill when Eggsy, having gamely entertained them for however long, wraps himself as obviously and suggestively around Harry as he can and makes whatever pointed comment about getting home comes out of his mouth. Usually they gawp; sometimes they ask unbelievable questions; Harry always goes bright livid pink and gets hard in his trousers and Eggsy reaps the benefit but it does get a bit arduous.  


They’ve been at nice simmer for long enough that they opted silently to just snuggle down and pick up where they’d left off with House of Cards. Eggsy hasn’t really had much idea what’s going on for a few episodes anyway, so it doesn’t matter how much attention he doesn’t pay. They settle, comfortably intertwined along the length of the sofa, until a shift for comfort rolls them together and breaks the tension; until absent fondling turns into Harry tracing his fingers along the ridges of Eggsy’s abs, into him ducking down and worshiping the same lines with his mouth…

...isn’t the sex supposed to calm down? Like, after a year or so together, or after you turn fifty? Eggsy at least has the excuse of being relatively young and effectively sex starved for how quickly he melts into Harry biting his way up to his mouth, pulling Eggsy’s t-shirt off him as he moves back up his body to kiss him, deep and hungry. But it feels like Harry wants this just as much, is just as blissfully swept up in the quick build of tenstion, and Eggsy needs to keep his wits about him if he wants to impress.  


For all the mental effort, he finds himself unable to stop himself grinding against Harry's leg. Harry’s hands wander with more purpose, smoothing over the bulge of Eggsy, hard in his jeans, catching the buttons with long fingers, and Eggsy forcefully composes himself.  


“You ain't planning on uh, doing anything cruel, are ya? Because I might not let you touch me if you're just gonna wind me up.” That might not be strictly true. Eggsy is desperate, yes: if there's any way a proper orgasm is on the cards he’ll go for it but if there isn't… he's resigned to that now. He’ll get his when Harry is done playing with him and he absolutely does not have the resolve to stop at this point. He'll either get what he wants or be another lesson down.

“Not at all. You've suffered enough.” 

Eggsy has. He's been very good and it's far too long, at least a day or so, since Harry has told him that.   

"Wanna take this upstairs?" 

Harry chuckles, low and close. "I was rather hoping you might do me here..."

Something jumps in Eggsy's stomach. Does Harry have to be quite so softly, so casually debauched? He reels things off in the same precisely pronounced tones he uses on the rare occasions he gets waylaid by actual innocent customers in the shop and has to quickly pretend he's a legit taylor - a surprisingly underdeveloped facade, considering - and for some reason it sends Eggsy crazy. Fucking posh git, and here he is, humping at Eggsy on a fucking sofa in front of Netflix. It's a great leveller.

"Yeah? You wanna get fucked?" Eggsy buries his husky words in Harry's shoulder, clumsy with lust and self-conscious with nerves he wouldn't have if Harry hadn't wound him up so tight. "Think I can manage that."

At that moment it sounds like heaven: sinking his cock into the warmth of Harry's body, an absolute bucket of the good lube... he might have to run upstairs, alright, that will calm him down for a few minutes...  maybe with Harry on his back so that Eggsy can easily help him along if it feels like he's not going to last.

Because fuck is Eggsy not going to last if Harry keeps sucking at his neck like that. He never does it in case it leaves a mark - and this will, Eggsy's skin shows everything, it tells tales on them,  _ look what I've been doing  _  - but Eggsy loves the feel of it, let alone the thought of walking around tomorrow with guilty purple bruises over his collar. If there's no other reason to leave the house he might just suddenly need to go to the shops for something and Harry will absolutely have to come with him so that he can hold his hand obliviously as he does whilst Highgate coffee-morning mums gossip and wonder about them, about this slutty young lad and the impeccably handsome middle-aged man he's broken apart so hard he's bitten chunks out of his neck.  


He's winding up quickly, so he presses Harry gently back with the weight of his body so he can get to their trousers. His, Harry's, it doesn't matter what comes off when, only that they get to the real action before he loses his mind completely.

"There's no hurry, is there?” There's no way in hell Harry doesn't know exactly what he's doing.

Eggsy gulps down the lie. “No.” It's not hugely convincing but Harry plays along. He's a good sport as long as he's winning.

Harry kisses him fiercely, the way that would definitely be getting to him even if he weren't so strung out and mindless for it, and Eggsy breaks away to gasp into his hair, to press their hips together roughly and moan before he can speak.  


“C’mon. You're going to have to take some clothes off, babes. I'm good, I ain't a fucking miracle worker”

“I beg to disagree…” says Harry, warmly,  And oh, flattery will get him everywhere.  


If it needed to. But his hands are firm on Eggsy's arse, grasping a whole cheek each, and if Harry wants to fuck him instead that's fine too.  Maybe better even, because he'll bet Harry won't be able to rein it in enough to stop at the wrong moment and would just pound him right through it, and Eggsy will take anything at this point if it just means he gets to come properly at last.

Of course, the moment he starts thinking about how he's got to make sure he keeps it together, he realises what a bad joke that is. Every touch is searing and wonderful, soothing promise on his strung out nerves and now he thinks about it, depriving him to make him last  _ longer _ makes no sense at all.

He unravels shamefully quickly.  Is it the Yakuza that do death by a thousand cuts? He's not sure what's doing it, the pinch of Harry's teeth in his skin, the burning velvet of his voice, how owned and wanted he feels with Harry all over him in the living room like he wants him so bad he can't help himself... Or the slow, perfect grind against his cock, like the lapping of waves, building slowly to a beautiful mindless heat... 

It's too much. “Stop…”

Harry is undeterred. "But you look gorgeous like this." He pulls away just enough for some fiery eye contact, quickly broken by Eggsy's eyes involuntarily fluttering closed as a surge of hot sparks flood through him. "Don't you feel good?”

Of course he does. He could get lost in this, in dryhumping like teenagers, like he doesn't have the far more grown up option of flipping them over and fucking Harry until neither of them can walk straight, to make him come apart entirely for Eggsy’s cock.  Just… give him a fucking chance, yeah? 

“Too good, and you know it.”

“Mmm. I can feel how hard you are. I can't wait to feel that..." Harry's hand on Eggsy's arse pushes, rubbing them together so that Eggsy's rigid cock presses hard against Harry's hip,  more than making up for any subtelty in his words.  "Eggsy?" He waits for eye contact again, and the slight fogging of his glasses should be ridiculous but it's just satisfying. Eggsy takes them off him anyway, folds the arms up one handed and reaches up to place them on the side table before turning his attention back to Harry's lidded gaze. "Fuck me." It's deliberate, almost tactical. "Right here, however you want me. I want to feel you twitching in me as you come."

Knowing Harry can be an utter slut is one thing. Listening him talk about it is entirely different, and it's never stopped going straight to Eggsy’s cock when he hears it, all polished gravel. He tries to regain a bit of that: to project a bit of Eggsy the top, Eggsy the stud Harry makes him feel like when he's all but begging for his dick, naked and stripped of his propriety: just a man, a man who wants Eggsy something fierce and isn’t ashamed about it even though Eggsy’s half his age and three classes down. He's good enough to fuck him. Good enough to make him love it when he does.

“Get off me, then.”  Eggsy tries to move them himself but finds he’s pinned down by both and deceptively casual but efficient hold and the temptation of staying just like this, when it feels so good. Still that lovely friction where his hard-on’s trapped in his boxers against Harry’s body, and the heavy, solid strength of the hold doesn’t deter him either. 

“For fuck’s sake,  _ oh.  _ H ere, pack it in. Seriously you’re not going to get much at this rate.” Eggsy tries not to feel it, tries to think about something else and ignore the building heat in his hips, the tingles up his back, but his body wants what it wants. It isn’t listening to his insistence that good things come to those who wait,that this will end badly: all he can feel is heat and pressure; he can taste fresh sweat on Harry's skin more then he can smell it and right then Harry bites into the side of Eggsy's neck, strokes his tongue against the flesh between his teeth and sucks, bringing a sharp burst of bliss out under Eggsy's skin. 

“Oh god-” It's painful, how tight his body is with pleasure. How hadn't he noticed how far this hs gone? "Harry..."  


Reality dawns, hot and immediate. Eggsy whines and struggles in the relentless, wonderful hold against Harry's body but it's possible he doesn't realise quite how tightly wound he's got Eggsy, how badly Eggsy wants to be inside him, wants to be able to ride through to the whole and perfect pleasure that Harry keeps taking away.  Or perhaps he knows exactly what he's doing as he rolls them so smoothly together, grabbing handfuls of Eggsys arse to pull him close and rut their hips, trapping Eggsy's cock in an unbearably tempting fold of heat, and he fights it with everything he has.  


“Harry. You're going to make me fucking  _ come,  _ Harry  _ please _ \- “

“Don't you dare…”

Harry stops dead still and holds Eggsy's unconsciously driving hips down.  


Eggsy thinks for a moment the he might have clawed it back just in the nick of time, but no. His cock twitches pathetically and betrays him, and it's too late to chase the sensations he was trying so hard to squash down: all the pleasure is gone but the wheels are already in motion. He witnesses himself coming - if you can call it that - without any real sensation, as if he's not even connected with his body as it twitches and he's left with a lap full of his own spunk cooling shamefully against his helpless prick.  


Harry catches his tortured whimper, or feels the liquid heat soaking through against his hip, and smirks down at Eggsy, victorious. 

_Oh god._ He's for it now. 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice how there's suddenly a finite value on how many chapters there will be to this? Yeah, we're almost there. Hopefully people are hanging in there; thank you to those who've been giving feedback and encouragement.

Eggsy isn't at all surprised by how easily he's coaxed into being tied naked and spread eagled on their bed for Harry to play with. He hadn't asked what he was in for, which had prompted an actual purr of approval from Harry: he'd just presented himself,  stripped and showered,  as soon as he'd seen Harry untangling the restraints from around the legs of the bed.

He'd been sceptical, when he was first introduced to the system of endlessly practical Velcro-close cuffs and straps that secured under the mattress and curled around the bedposts, at Harry's assertion that the whole kit wasn't some custom job he'd had made up specially but in fact just something he'd bought ready made. Off the peg, as it were.

“I think you and I visit some very different shops.”

“That's a shame,” Harry had laughed against his neck. “I've saved some _wonderfully_ disgusting websites.” So there might have been some browsing done later that afternoon and Eggsy is fairly confident that's where the tentacle dildo had resulted from although the delivery had been unexprected: it all got a bit silly after the third orgasm and the second bottle of wine.

Still, he finds the introduction of props ups the ante before they even get down to anything: a little psychological signifier that this is A Big Deal which knocks some sort of switch in Eggsy’s mind, sending him spiraling down into the dust at Harry’s feet. He'd guessed that Harry was going to fuck him when he'd settled him down in the hold of the straps at wrists and ankles and worked him open on his fingers, until he'd spotted that the toy box was out, lid off, which meant somewhere there was a line of freshly rewashed objects - sitting on a fucking microfibre towel, probably, knowing Harry - waiting to be used on him. In him.

Perhaps this is what he's been waiting for the whole time: the grand finale in which Harry takes him apart completely and declares his mission accomplished.

Only one toy is brought to the bed, a trusty enough favourite that Eggsy's stomach flips at the sight of it which does not bode at all well. The plug is crooked: the softly tapered tip angles backwards, leading it in so that the pronounced bump on the front side sinks to sit directly on his prostate and will not budge, even whilst its curves nestle against all the sweet spots that don't even seem to be there until its firm silicone is pressing into them. Dormant inside it is the vibrating bullet wired up to the power pack in Harry's hands and Eggsy cannot think about that right now, shuts his eyes so he doesn't find himself looking at Harry's clever fingers right by the controls, still glistening with lube from being inside him.

The toy narrows drastically before the base so that his body can close comfortably around it and if he keeps dead still Eggsy could almost forget about it entirely, his internal muscles adjusting admirably to the strangely perfect bulk of it, like it's supposed to be there. _I like it,_ thinks Eggsy with a little shimmer of arousal that makes him tense around the toy, which in turn makes his cock twitch against his belly.

Harry, sitting there all calmwith his shirt off but still in his suit trousers, hums a little laugh at him. “Go on then. What just went through your head to get that reaction?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.” He grins and wriggles a bit, displaying his body, because there's no way Harry will let him off at that so he may as well go in for the kill.

“Try me.”

“I was thinking about quite how much I like having something up my arse, actually.” There's an earnestsness to his voice that takes Harry by surprise, if the low chuckle and the suddenly heated eyes are anything to go by.

“Slut,” tuts Harry, fondly.

“Yeah, whatever. Is the pot going to get over here and actually fuck the kettle or do you need me to show you how it's done?”

So he can't say he doesn't deserve it when Harry flicks the dial on the plastic pack in his hands and a fierce shock of vibration jolts through Eggsy, shutting him up save for a loud, unexpected and slightly embarrassing whimper.

He had that coming.

But it's just a warning shot: Harry turns it off quickly enough, leaving the flash of answering pleasure to sing out through Eggsy's nerves and dissipate into warm static. Still, his body is awoken by it, clamping down around the toy and Eggsy almost forgets about the glee in Harry's eyes for a moment, lost in the sensations he's promsed by that first rush of pleasure from it. He's never quite made it all the way to coming like this before so there's an actual hope he will be able to stop on cue, Harry will be dead impressed and give him time to compose himself before carrying on, maybe force himself through a cold shower so they can get on with a decent fuck and be tucked up in bed by ten.

Ain't that kind of movie, is it. Eggsy is no longer sure that the restraint Harry wants from him is possible. He's been trying, really trying but if anything his body seems to have got used to just giving up his orgasm on demand, without real climax, without his permission, and Eggsy struggles physically on the bed at the thought of it. He can't face that again, however much he doesn't want Harry to stop, doesn't want any of what he's feeling right now to stop.

“You look stunning like this.”

He probably does, too. Bright pink in a stripe across his cheeks where he can feel them burning, every muscle pulled tight against his bonds in a showy flex, sweat gleaming on every thick, taut curve.

Harry fiddles about with the toy nestled strangely comfortably in Eggsy's arse, straightening the offputting wire that attaches it to its controls, and eventually sets it to a slow pulse. Too slow. The gap between buzzes just long enough for the spasm of arousal from the previous to have died off before the next, so it's each is a startling jolt that makes Eggsy grunt or twist his hips no matter how much he tries to ready himself for it.

What kind of fucking evil sadist even thought to give the bloody thing a pulse that slow? Eggsy’s head swims and he hears himself groaning.

“Is that good?”

“Unnnhhhh,” is all Eggsy manages the first time. “That's… awful. Turn it - shit! - turn it up? Or off. Or _fuck,_ something. Please.”

“Which?”

“Off. _Ahh,_ no. Up. More.”

“Make your mind up or I'll walk out and leave you with it until the batteries die."

Eggsy musters cold fury. “Stop it doing that, one way or the other, or I swear down Harry I will never put your dick in my mouth again.“ Eggsy is a rubbish liar. Still, Harry is amused enough to have mercy and alters the vibration pattern to a weaker but constant thrumming.

That’s easier. Eggsy blows out a breath and steels himself. It feels good, liquid-warm and a bit wonderful and he clenches experimentally, squeezing the plug deeper, pressing it up against his prostate.

“ _Fuuuuuucking_ hell. Yeah.”

It's not like Harry is unfamiliar with that particular sensation and there's a tiny bit of sympathy in the warmth of his smile.

“Yeah?” He echoes softly, brushing his fingers over the base of the plug to tilt it, forcing a loud, sudden whine from the back of Eggsy’s throat. It’s not really ascent but it’s definitely what he was aiming for. With the toy set to a low, steady vibration, Harry’s hands begin to tease over Eggsy’s body, shamelessly going for the weak spots: stroking up the backs of his knees, trailing over his hipbones but avoiding his cock; pinching at his nipples, walking gently over his collar bones to wrap long, skilled fingers around his throat: not squeezing, just suggesting.

Eggsy bucks clean off the bed as arousal flares through him, sharp and unexpected. The vibration keeps it like that, high and maddening, and Eggsy finds himself gasping, twisting to the extent his bonds allow, grinding whatever of his body will reach against Harry, not making any attempt to dislodge his grip from around Eggsy's neck.

Of course Harry doesn't touch his cock. He doesn't even sit close enough that Eggsy can rub off against him, restricted as he is to just about lifting his arse a few inches off the bed and bending at the knees or elbows but not both unless he has a proper go at breaking the headboard.

“I'll beg, Harry, ain't ashamed.”

Harry smiles brightly at him. “That would be rather beautiful."

Eggsy groans. _Smug bastard._ As if he's going to give him the satisfaction now. So instead he grinds his teeth, shuts his eyes and decides he's going to ride this out. How bad can it be? He’ll either come or he won’t, surely.

Two weeks ago he’d have felt comfortable in that. Now it’s so evident Harry knows more about his body than he does; that his body belongs to Harry, obeys him even at the expense of what Eggsy wants, that he finds he isn't sure at all. He's so hot all over he feels like he might actually die before he gets a chance, but what a way to go.

Harry settles back on his heels with the controls resting on one thigh and starts fiddling, turning the toy up by increments as though it's some new gadget and he's just interested to see what it does. What it does is make an unbearable, itchy sort of excitiment crawl up Eggsy's back, the sweat that's broken out on his chest and stomach pooling in the divots of his abs and running down the skin onto their sheets at the electric current under his skin.

“This ain't fair, Harry, come on.”

He kicks his feet and struggles but it does nothing other than wriggle the plug in him slightly and _oh,_ that helps.  Eggsy rolls his hips experimentally and is surprised to realise the groan he hears comes from Harry, doubtless at the sight of him writhing around trying to fuck himself on the toy in his arse. It doesn't matter. It feels good and he's in control of that, he can make that happen, with or without Harry's input.

Eggsy isn't usually able to come without anything touching his cock, but he’s sure he’d be allowed that if he can: Harry loves to see it happen. Fuck it, if begging is what it takes he’ll beg.

“Please.” His voice comes out far grittier than he expected. It helps to say it, to have a word to form rather than mindless, frantic whimpering, although he's not sure if he's asking Harry or his own body at this point just to allow him.   “Please _please pleasepleaseplease-”_

Harry nudges the dial, turns the vibration up a fraction and might just brush over the leaking, scarlet head of Eggsy’s cock on his was to placing a hand on his belly and pushing him back into the bed but that’s all. He just holds him down, forcing his straining arms to relax even as he's bucking under him, rutting into nothing.

“Please.” He has to gasp it between helpless, uncontrollable thrusts of his hips. If he was ever pretending, he isn't anymore.  “Please let me come.”

“I'm not stopping you.”

That's true enough and Eggsy will take it if it's all he's getting. He screws his face up and concentrates: on the steady vibration which feels like waves because of the rhythm his own body has set in shifting around the toy; on the prickling pleasure climbing up his back that's starting to get stronger second by second, _yes,_ h e's panting, straining, almost there, so close, _so close...  
_

Harry, Harry fucking fastest-reflexes-in-Kingsman Hart flicks the dial and turn ms the vibration up and, then, the moment Eggsy hits breaking point, off.

Eggsy clenches down to chase the last shiver of stimulation just as he starts to come. It's not enough, but it's too late to stop: just enough left to take him up to the top of the rollercoaster and push him over the crest so he goes into the fall unaided: pure torture. He just about feels a shadow of something like an orgasm sweep through his lower body but it's too quick to pin down, not enough to latch on to. Gone. The first time in so long he's managed to get off without his cock touched and he barely even gets to feel it.

Eggsy sobs as come dribbles from his cock rather than spurting, weak and defeated, much like the rest of him.

“Oh, _E_ _ggsy_.”

Eggsy keeps his eyes shut against frustrated tears and the heated adoration he knows is going to be in Harry's face. He doesn't deserve that. He can't do it, can't get enough control over himself to do what harry wants no matter how hard he's trying, he hasn't earned Harry's hands fussing at him: he failed.

Harry is having none of it.

“You're doing so well. Such a good boy for me." As soon as he's got Eggsy’s hand  released from the cuff Harry kisses his knuckles and draws it down to feel where his own cock is rock hard and red hot, straining the zip on his trousers, which pulls Eggsy sharply back into the moment. _Oh_.

It’s not about him learning to perform on cue: it’s just Harry being a fucking pervert. The clarity hits him like a bucket of water in his hormonal fog but it's refreshing rather than cold: he's not being punished. He's doing exactly what Harry wants even when he's not quite managing to hold off, because he's trying, _for him._ He’d thought, all this time, that it was just a long term investment in making him a better shag, but perhaps that was never anything to do with it. Harry's always been a little too happy to watch Eggsy squirm.  

“Feel what you do to me? I love it when you do as you're told. I know how difficult it is for you.”

That sounds like a dig but he Eggsy knows isn't. It's exactly why it feels so good: there wouldn't be any sense of achievement in complying with Harry's random orders if it didn't rankle every fibre of his being to do as instructed without question. It's exactly why Harry gets off on how desperate he is to please him. It's exactly why Eggsy wants to do it, to prove everyone wrong, not that they’ll ever know. It's probably obvious that he’d walk barefoot on broken glass for Harry, he's done worse, but they’ll never see him like this: Eggsy willingly helpless and debased for Harry’s enjoyment, submissive and selfless and so consciously not in control. Sometimes he wishes they could, just for the pride in Harry’s face.

Harry keeps hold of his hand until Eggsy meets his eyes. “Do you want to be a really, _really_ good boy for me?”

Eggsy shudders, catches his bottom lip between his teeth and nods. His exhausted cock twitches feebly. He's still hard, his core still achingly tense, his body frozen in anticipation of release that it’s missed out on.

He jerks against the bed and the straps around his ankles and wrist when Harry closes a warm, slick hand around his cock.

"Will you come again for me? Right now?"

“I can't. I physically can't.” He'd try, he'd try anything for Harry but his body has its limits...

“I think you can.” It's encouraging, rather than threatening, and as always Eggsy is seized with the urge to give Harry what he wants at all costs. “Will you try? If I can _make_ you, are you willing?”

Eggsy, against every hair of his better judgement, swallows and nods again before he can change his mind.

Harry kisses him as he pops the plug from Eggsy's body in one uncomfortable tug and drops it down the edge of the bed. Immediately his fingers are there instead, slim and cool in the fierce heat of Eggsy's body, and Harry moans into his mouth at the feel of it. Eggsy's released hand finds Harry's back and grips to him, digging into his back to hold on for dear life because at that moment Harry's fingers hone in on their target, he presses in on it and rubs.

Eggsy whines loudly, his cock jerking back to full hardness almost instantly, the rest of him quickly picking up the remembered feelings where it left off, and this time in addition to the blissful battering his prostate is taking he has Harry's hand around him. He's not sore from being wanked off, unlike the other times, so his cock lets him thrust and buck into Harry's loose fist and quickly answers with a physical thrill so blinding it's like a firework going off somewhere in him and he has to stop. _Shit_ , he's already so close and so tightly wound, his body straining against itself to shy away from the overstimulation but also to bear just enough to build on its pleasure. The tension never breaks and it’s agony but it’s so good, it’s so _much._ He feels like he should have come already, and of course his body knows he has so no wonder it’s reluctant to give it up again but Harry isn’t going to give it a choice in the matter. He just has to hold out. 

Eggsy flings his free hand back and grabs tight onto his restraints to get some control over the violent shuddering wracking his body but one leg still twitches with every stroke. Fierce heat wipes over him and his back arches of its own accord, pressing him up into Harry's fist and he fights to wriggle back down on his fingers, fucking himself frantically between Harry's hands.

He comes quickly and he's so far past ready that it's over before he realises it's happening. There’s no swing to it: it can’t build up from anywhere and there’s nowhere to go; the pleasure doesn’t crest and break and crash through him, it just bubbles over for a moment like a pan taken off the hob, a split-second flash of something and nothing before spunk spatters him up to the nipples, and for a moment the sensation that floods through his body isn's satisfaction but rage.

Eggsy keens miserably as he collapses, spent again with no afterglow to show for it, just sweat and aching and the same frustration gnawing in his guts he’s had every time. Why is he doing this? Why is he letting Harry do this to him?

Above him, Harry has stripped his trousers and pants down to his thighs and has his hand around his own cock; his hair’s falling in his eyes, his expression one of awestruck, desperate want.

_Oh, that’s why_.

“May I…” Harry falters, flushed and wanting, suddenly embarrassed by his enthusiasm in the face of Eggsy’s plight, by the fact that’s what’s got him so hard in the first place. If only he realised that's all Eggsy needs to make it all better; that knowing Harry wants him, is turned on by this, makes it all worth it. Maybe he does, deep down.

Eggsy will make him understand.

He looks up at Harry, wide eyed and panting, free hand just toying with the cuff around his other wrist. They're both kidding themselves if they ever thought velcro and wood could hold Eggsy if he really didn't want to be held, but it just makes the point that he's staying still totally of his own volition at this point. _I could get free easily, if I wanted to,_ he makes his eyes say. _What next?_

“Will you hate me if I keep you like this just a little longer? You've done so well.” Harry's motives are clear, despite his sudden shyness, in his one handed fumbling, in the desperate kissing down the inside of Eggsy's cuffed and sweaty arm. He's asking if he can wank over Eggsys bound and conquered body, stretched out and worn out with come drying in loose slashes on the taut planes of his belly. So, at the very least, Eggsy is going to wait for him to ask. “Can I...?”

Eggsy tries to keep his smile innocent, like he can't possibly guess what he might want, but of course he'll give it to him, rather than just being the brat he knows he loves.

"Can you what, Harry?"

He watches Harry's throat flex as he swallows.

"Will you stay like this? Whilst I-"  Harry's voice cracks and he has to swallow again to regain a bit of composure, but he's lost. "Whilst I make myself come over you. You look incredible, and you've been so fucking good, and I-" Harry's already started stroking at his cock whilst he justifies himself, tense and slow, like he's trying so hard not to. Eggsy wonders if he even knows he's doing it, or if he's so far gone at the sight of Eggsy broken for him that he's lost control entirely.

“Fuck yes.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are then! I'm not as happy with this as I'd like to be but I figure those of you still reading would rather I gave you the rest and potentially came back for a rework later than left it indefinitely, perhaps permanently. The good news was my attention was diverted by... *drumroll* more Hartwin romancesmut. Anyway, here you are and thank you for all the kind words and support.
> 
> But you get two in one! Woohoo!

The day after what he'll soon start referring to ominously as “vibrator-gate” Eggsy Unwin loses his mind. He's faced down a speeding train and Russian interrogation techniques without giving in but ten days into being wound up and deprived by Harry he actually cracks. 

He's been distracted, almost subdued in his preoccupation pretty much the entire time and it's only getting worse. Typically, it was sensible of Harry to do this when they had nothing on but admin - because Eggsy increasingly accepts that this was not as spontaneous as it appeared - so his one track mind won't be a danger to anyone so much as an amusing inconvenience, at least for Harry. Harry, who preens under the the extra attention because Eggsy can't take his eyes off him, each glimpse of Harry at work making him fumbly and stupid, putting him off even the simplest tasks with twinges in his belly and an ache in his groin. 

All he can think about is Harry's absolute command over his whole ability to orgasm, or not, depending on whether he’s pleased him. When will he do it again? When will he stop? Will it not be until he's trained his boy to come or not come on command, at the click of his fingers? They'll be at it for years at the rate Eggsy’s going.

He's not worried about his desperation showing because he knows Harry likes it: he sees him looking when he shifts about and feels himself going pink; the quirks of lust and pride at how thoroughly he's got under Eggsy’s skin. Eggsy suspects he probably thought he'd give up quicker than this but fucked if he's backing down now, Harry should have known that. 

So he shows his obedience in the most upfront, most Eggsy way he can possibly think of: he asks for more, obviously. 

They're barely in the door and it's been a long, boringly easy day, the kind that has harry shrugging out of jacket and tie the moment he's in the house, toeing his shoes off  - Eggsy still struggles to believe he does that, but the proof is in front of him and in the minute creases in a dipped crescent at the heel of his shoes, more pronounced on the right and always covered by his trousers when he's standing - whilst Eggsy opens the back door for JB. It's all wordless, heated, neither breaking the obvious tension with the usual pleasantries about dinner or a drink, and then Eggsy is taking Harry by both hands and backing decisively towards the stairs. 

So far, Eggsy’s left it to Harry to instigate and it occurred to him sometime around lunch that this, combined with his slow progress might be seen as a lack of willing and that Harry might give up, go back to normal and of course that's exactly what he wants, except he doesn't.  Harry follows him gamely up the stairs, letting himself be pulled into the bedroom and into hurried kisses full of teeth, cupping Eggsy expectantly through his trousers. He’s not to be disappointed.

Eggsy pulls Harry's shirt from his shoulders and strips out of his own, yanking his undershirt off over his head between kisses and looking impatiently from Harry’s mouth to his eyes. His move made, he guides Harry’s hands to his hips, makes himself pliable and soft for Harry to take from. Harry backs him against the wall right beside the door and Eggsy just lets him.

It's not a seduction. It's an offering of sacrifice.

“I don’t mind,” he says to Harry’s predatory expression, which only makes him hotter under the skin, and he’s rewarded with a dirty smirk.

“Magnanimous of you.”

“No, I mean like…” He knows that Harry knows exactly what he means, and he’s going to make him say it. He's sweating already. “I don’t mind how this finishes.”

It’s going to hurt. He’s hot and tense and if there is such a thing as a mood in which he might be able to maintain stony composure whilst Harry does his damndest to make him come - and he really doubts it - this is not it. But that’s not the point. The point is he’s so gone for how Harry reacts to getting to torture him like this: no pain but all the control, Eggsy’s pleasure literally in his hands to dispense or withhold as he sees fit, that it doesn’t matter. 

“You're a delight when you're like this.”  Harry kisses down his neck, over his collar, not lingering enough for Eggsy to feel anything other than the fact he is quite definitely moving downwards, which shoots a bolt of excitement straight to his prick. “You're doing so well, too. Progress every time. You might not notice it, but I do.”

Eggsy huffs, what was going to be pith coming out as a sigh as the encouragement curls around something in him and strokes just softly. As if he could deny Harry anything, when he’s looking at him like that.

“You'll do that for me? Give your pleasure up willingly, rather than making me take it?”

Eggsy hadn’t quite realised what he was offering, but it’s true.    


“That’s… it is what you’re getting of on, isn’t it?”  He takes a deep breath as Harry drops down to his knees and starts on unfastening his trousers. He can do this. “- About seeing me all fucked up. That I’ll let you do it, even when I know you’re going to ruin it? That I want you too much to say no?”

A flash of uncertainty, suddenly, perhaps coinciding with the moment his own desperate arousal is exposed  to the room and he can’t hide, but Harry  _ hmm _ s appreciatively against the side of his cock and if the feeling of his breath wasn’t enough to send Eggsy reeling back into the wall, tightly wound as he is, then the molten gaze Harry tips up at him would be.

“What does it feel like?” Harry's voice is thin, dreamy, but… what?! 

“You ask  _ now _ ? You mean you've never done it before?” 

Harry shakes his head softly in response and Eggsy absolutely has the time to be incredulous, for that, no matter how hard he is. 

“You were just like, oh I know what I'll do, I'll see if I can make Egg spunk without actually coming? Then I'm gonna keep doing it until he actually bursts something or explodes or..? Whatever,. you'll be laughing on the other side of your face if my cock falls off.”

“I read about it.” There's a tweak in Harry's voice as he breathes the words against Eggsy’s hipbone between kisses that may just give away that it was not something he stumbled upon in innocence. Eggsy flushes hot with pride at the thought of fulfilling some undiscussed fantasy and can’t for the life in him think why Harry doesn’t just  _ tell _ him these things when he seems well aware Eggsy will bend over backwards for any little thing that might make him smile.

For things that make Harry hard, he’ll go all out. 

“It feels like…do you really want to know?” He knows he does, but he can stand for a bit more of Harry’s soft treatment.

Harry sits back, adjusting his trousers across his lap to make room for his reaction to Eggsy talking him through it, and Eggsy wants to see his cock suddenly, wants to touch it... Christ, how long has it been since they've actually fucked? “Oh, definitely. It's incredible to watch. ”

“Oi - I didn’t say stop.” 

Chastened, Harry continues to nuzzle at the root of Eggsy’s cock, trailing his fingers down under his balls to just caress him, not enough to distract him from talking. 

“It’s hell, Harry. It’s like when you're about to sneeze and someone surprises you and you can't, and then the sneeze doesn't go away it just kinda stays here,” he puts two fingers to his forehead. Just above the bridge of his nose. “Like when you drink a slush puppy too quick and it's like  _ aagh.  _ You need to come but you can’t because you already have but you haven’t because your boyfriend’s a sadistic old wanker, so it all just stays pent up and -  _ ugh.  _ But you like it, yeah? _ ” _

Harry fairly moans and Eggsy feels that breath against his balls where Harry’s petting and kissing at him to spur him on. 

“Eggsy, my dear boy, if you knew just how much I was enjoying this I fear you'd never let me put my hands on you again.”

“What, you like keeping me like this? Don't I get to come anymore?” He's not sure how long he could _ play that  _ game for, but the words spark something deep and dark that's fanned by the heat in Harry's eyes in response.

“Of course.” He wraps one hand, gently firm, around the base of Eggsy’s cock and puts his lips against the head, barely anything but enough that Eggsy can feel the warmth and the tease of his tongue when he speaks. “But only when I want you to, when I say you can. Otherwise you know what will happen.”

Eggsy groans and drops his weight back into the wall, knees weaker by the minute. “I want to earn it.” He swallows, with some difficulty, “I know you'll make it worth it. If I'm a good boy for you.”

“You’re always a good boy for me.”

It's ridiculous, how Harry can talk to him like that when he's about to suck Eggsy off: like he's going to make him a fucking sticker chart and put it on the fridge. Weirder still, Eggsy thinks he could get into that, like if Harry would give him a gold star whenever he does something truly filthy, a little reward for being Harry's slut and doing as he's told... 

Surely this deserves an actual fucking medal. He’s got to be in the good books for ages.

“I do want it noted that this comes under cruel and unusual punishment and as such you are in breach of at least two international conventions, off the top of my head…”

“Four,” corrects Harry, unfazed.  “And I doubt it’s the first time. Are you sure you're ready?”

Perhaps they're both suddenly struck with the image of Eggsy tied to that bed yesterday, squirming, tears on his cheeks and come sticky on his stomach as Harry had bullied him into wanking out a third, dry, entirely unsatisfying excuse for an orgasm.

“No.” Eggsy nudges Harry with his foot. “Crack on before I change my mind.”

So Harry does, and those first heavenly warm, wet kisses up the shaft if Eggsy’s cock are enough to reassure him that he’s made the right decision even if he’s going to hate them both for it later. It’s blissful, soft reprieve from the nagging of his nerves and Harry works him smoothly, taking him in his mouth fully but he doesn’t keep it up long enough for Eggsy get too tense before he swaps to his hand and pulls back. 

“How're you doing?”

“Good, yeah.” It could be the understatement of the century.  Eggsy’s body is singing, and the knowledge that this is unlikely to end well for him doesn't seem to be deterring it in the slightest.

“Tell me when you're getting close.” Harry has never once, in Eggsy’s relatively brief but quite extensive experience, minded a mouthful of spunk so he's got something planned, for sure, but his voice is kind. Eggsy thinks he's probably won himself a little mercy by volunteering.  “A little  _ before _ the point of no return, ideally.”

“Okay. M’good.” 

Eggsy revels in what he can whilst he's still warming up, before he's in any danger of orgasm catching up with him quicker than he can react to. He savours the wet drag of lips and tongue, the way Harry watches his reactions so closely to allow him just the right amount of push and pull so that he can take Eggsy as deep as he needs without choking. It’s not flashy but skilled in a way Eggsy wouldn't have imagined, before: Harry reading his responses to the very twitch so that Eggsy gets what he wants before he has a chance to know he wants it. 

But he can't allow himself that. He has to prove his restraint. Still, he’s collected enough that he can allow his hips to loosen, shifting to chase down the best sensations, like Harry’s tongue rubbing beautifully on the underneath of  his cockhead.

Harry gives him a pointed look - mouth stuffed full, happily drooling around Eggsy’s cock - to remind him he's supposed to stop him before it goes too far. 

He doesn't want to. He wants to just carry on enjoying fucking into Harrys mouth until he comes down his throat, _ whoops, too late, what's he going to do about it? _ But more than that - and it’s a startling epiphany that he can want anything more than he wants to come at this second - he still wants to please. So he errs on the side of caution, buys himself time.

“I'm getting close…”

Harry pulls back from him, counts slowly and deliberately down from three, out loud, and then returns to sucking him off with a reassuring squeeze of Eggsy’s arse. Eggsy’s cock twitches but the pause is just enough to claw him back from the brink, and Harry goes easy on him, stroking softly to give him a moment’s recovery and murmuring  “Good. Again. Keep going”

_ Right.  _ Eggsy breathes deep and straightens his back. Alright, he can do this. Predictable. Controlled. He just has to be able to hold on for a few seconds at a time and then… well, presumably once he's proved he can do it Harry will finish him off properly. 

_ If _ he proves he can do it. Because he's not been doing terribly well so far, has he? The combination of promise and threat makes the layer of excitement low in his belly roll, and it stays twisted. He’s not far off, and Harry’s no longer letting him off lightly: he’s all rolling tongue and heavy eye contact as he goes in for the kill. Perhaps Eggsy will just neglect to tell him this time, or tell him when he’s already coming so that if he tries to pull of again Eggsy’ll just spunk all over his smug fucking face.

“Harry.”

And again. “Three, two, one.” There’s the cool air against his cock, the steady count back from three, just giving Eggsy long enough to get his act together before getting back to it. Harry pets at the back of his thigh and hums encouragement around him. He sounds so  _ pleased _ , and Eggsy trembles with it. He almost wants this bit over with so he can lap up the attention he's earned himself.

“Wouldn't-” Eggsy sucks in a hiss as Harry's tongue swipes over the head of his prick, no doubt tasting exactly how hard he's trying. “Wouldn't have such trouble if you weren't so fucking good at that.” Talking helps. Forcing himself to concentrate enough to form actual words helps distract him... or it does until Harry thanks him for the well deserved compliment by sliding all the way down on Eggsy, until his nose is pressing against skin. “ _ Shit. Fuck.”  _  Eggsy’s cock twitches in the grip of Harry's throat. It's incredible and he can't stand it but he can't make himself stop, and he's rocking his hips, a little rougher and faster than he wants to until Harry pulls back of his own accord. 

But Harry gives him the benefit of the doubt: he hasn't warned him so Harry doesn't stop and he really could just thrust in and take, hold Harry by the hair until he chokes on Eggsy’s come at last, make him swallow it down with his cock still shoved down his throat. 

“ _ Harry _ , fuck, I-”

“Three, two, one.” 

But this time the tide doesn't retreat as far, there's barely a break in the build up of pleasure crashing into him and Eggsy’s right on the edge as soon as Harry’s mouth touches him again. He squeezes his eyes shut and fights it, sweat prickling at his back and tingles starting through his hips.

“Please, I need-”

“One more. You can do one more, I know you can.”

Sometimes he feels he can do anything when Harry talks to him like that. At the very least he's going to give it his best shot and if he fails harry will know that he really tried and be proud of him for that, for the miles he's come since giving up on anything that looks a bit difficult, so he nods. Proper fucking Boy Scout, Eggsy Unwin - always tries his best.

Heat sears through him  at the idea he might succeed this time before Harry sucks him in again and it's only a couple of seconds before it's too much, knowing what he can have. He just has to wait the count of three out and then he'll get to come. He can do it. 

Eggsy can't quite speak, he's too far gone, but he manages to squeeze at Harry's shoulder in warning and Harry pulls away. 

“Three, tw-”

“ _ FUCK.” _

Eggsy knocks his head back on the wall with a loud thunk but it's not enough to distract him, too late to stop the pleasure cresting and bubbling over, despite how hard he squirms away from it, even though Harry’s not touching him. By the time he realises that's hopeless - that his come is splattering weakly onto their carpet - and leans into it, there’s nothing left to feel.    


The pleasure retreats back to sit in his core, waiting as if ready to strike but all the strength to even consider it is already spilled out of him. Eggsy’s knees buckle and he slides down the wall, falling into a graceless heap where his trousers bind him about the knees. 

Harry stares at him - pupils blown, mouth wet and open and a splash of Eggsy’s come gleaming on his upper arm - for a few dumb seconds before he pitches forwards to wrap him in a cuddle and press concerned, reassuring kisses against his lips.

For the first time, Eggsy he sees a hint that was perhaps always there, had he been able to get his mind off the strain in his balls long enough to notice: underneath sadistic glee, it pains Harry to leave him  unsatisfied, to see him squirming and glaring at him when he should by the way of things be grinning stupidly, spent, in Harry’s arms or babbling shit about how great he is at whatever or how good he makes him feel.Well, good, so he should. Anyway, it doesn’t seem to be enough to put him off the boner he’s got about it but he can wait. Eggsy can’t quite bring himself to think about what he wants to do about that yet. Can’t quite bring himself to move, or even open his eyes now he’s let them drift shut: he’s just exploring the sensations in his body, tracking down all the lost pleasure to where it’s tingles in his limbs and heat in his belly.

“Are you alright?”

Eggsy can feel himself shaking in Harry's hold. 

“You're a fucking prize wanker, Harry, an actual legit fucking tossbag and I hate you.”

Harry kisses his hair and pulls him closer still. 

 

***

 

Eggsy wakes up cross and too warm for Harry pressed up against his back, cuddling with intent. He wants to tell him to bugger off, to see how Harry likes it when he doesn't get what he wants, but Eggsy is weak and Harry's hands are lovely, fumbling around with the boxers  Eggsy fell asleep in to get at the enthusiastic curve of his erection.

A combination of dread and arousal shocks through him: it’s not like he doesn't know exactly what the name of the game is now, and that itself sends a shudder down his back that ends in a twitch in Harry's palm. 

_ Brilliant. _ He's got him trained like a fucking dog, shivering with excitement at the chance to please. 

They are going to have to have some words about the fact Harry is a prize fucking weirdo. He's a bad influence. 

Harry scrapes his teeth against the patch of skin behind Eggsy’s ear and the tingle of pleasure spreads out down his neck, creeps across his shoulders and brings a sweat out on his chest. Resigned, he loosens up, letting Harry know he’s awake and getting as comfortable as he can, although Harry’s too close up behind him for Eggsy to turn to face him. With just a few strokes his cock is leaking, desperate to rut into whatever touch it’s offered, begging Eggsy’s brain to let it hope: however stoically Eggsy wants to maintain his put-on frostiness, his body is on Harry's side, still, after all this. 

He can stop it, of course. He has a safeword, and though really it should mean ‘stop everything’ he has a suspicion that they're working with enough intuition for it to be taken how he means it: used at the right moment, in this context, it would mean the exact opposite.  _ Don’t stop. Don't make me do it again.  _ He may not even need that: if Eggsy said honestly that he didn't want to play - as opposed to spitting a bunch of swear words at him in the sharply doused heat of the moment - Harry would pull him into a hug, congratulate him on doing so well, and thank him for indulging him. Make him come properly with that startling efficiency, like he knows cheat codes, like Eggsy’s body was tailor made for him to play with. 

So imagine what he'll be like if Eggsy sees it through, now. He kicks the covers down off his body. It’s too hot for all that. 

“Hands up,” murmurs Harry into the back of his neck, and Eggsy stretches both arms over his head to grip around the bedstead. He can smell his own sweat on his skin already, sharp and fresh, which won’t put Harry off at all because he’s a dirty old sod like that, especially when the pose is designed to show Eggsy’s muscle off as well as keep his hands out of the way. He’s not stupid. "Mmm, that's it. Beautiful."  


Eggsy basks in the simplicity of it and sighs. He can feel Harry’s breath against the hairs on the nape of his neck, thrilling promise spreading out under his skin as long as he doesn’t think about what Harry might do to spoil it. Instead he starts to think about what he can offer in exchange for being allowed to feel orgasm again; what Harry might demand of him, and in no time at all that has him squirming, squeezing his eyes shut and gasping against the inside of his bicep.

Harry snakes his lower arm under Eggsy's head, pressing up close so they’re skin to skin more or less from shoulders to knees and Eggsy becomes suddenly aware that Harry is naked. He does not sleep that way. Harry’s cock is insistent against the small of Eggsy’s back, trapped between them, a cooler spot where it’s wet at the head and Eggsy is getting fucked today, he knows that much.

Harry grabs Eggsy’s leg and pulls it back over his lap to roll Eggsy part way onto his back, half lying on top of Harry, spread out for him. Only once he’s got him laid out, twisted to give Harry all the access he wants, does the hand return to stroking him off, and that’s bliss. It’s slow and steady and Eggsy could almost go back to sleep, safe in Harry’s hands, if it weren’t for the frantic excitement gnawing at every inch of his body. The stupid thing is, he already knows what's going to happen and he still can't help himself and he whines in frustration but his hips don't stop shifting, chasing it.  


The hand he’d forgotten about moves in the edge of his vision and Eggsy worries, abruptly sobered, that Harry is getting cramp or a dead arm from it being trapped under him but then he bends it quickly to play across Eggsy’s chest and scrape nails over his nipples, pinching, stopping to roll and squeeze and that little bite of pain sends a jolt straight to Eggsy’s cock.

He wonders if Harry knows how close he is - he must, Eggsy’s dripping on his hand, rock solid and pulsing - and then whether he’s expected to give himself up.

Eggsy squirms to roll flat onto his back, so he can see Harry’s face, and it takes his breath away how hungry he looks for him. Harry doesn't complain when Eggsy adjusts his hold on the headboard so his arms are straight up and he's just laid stretched out flat in front of Harry: he just  _ mmm _ s as he smiles and doesn't stop working over Eggsy’s cock. It's still so nice, the way Harry looks at him like this… not the sweet adoration he gives him at other times but something darker, all sex and want. Eggsy moans and watches how Harry’s eyes go to his mouth and then down to where the glistening head of his cock shows over the quick movements of Harry's fist, then back up to his eyes to stare right into him as he lets Harry toy with his body without promise, the way he has for weeks, the way he’s trained him to take.

The first glimmering prickles of orgasm start out from his lower back and it doesn’t matter how hopeless Eggsy tells himself it is, doesn’t matter what he thinks to try to put himself off: he’s warm and comfortable and Harry’s touches are ecstasy. He finds himself pressing his heels down into the bed to curl up into Harry's hand, hips twitching unevenly to chase more.  _ More… _ but he doesn’t need more. Time’s up.

“Ah,  _ ah _ , I'm gonna… can I…  _ “ _

“No.”

Harry stops moving and squeezes gently, taking the stimulation away like whipping out the tablecloth and there is the tower of crockery,  wobbling like it's all about to come crashing down on him,  _ no no no no -  _

Eggsy screws his face up and screams through clenched teeth and…  _ doesn't come.  _ Whether it's fluke, practice, fear of the consequences or sheer bloody determination his body finally obeys his brain and keeps the fucking lid on it, just for a moment, and he's simmering and sweating, balancing on his toes on the very precipice of orgasm and holding steady For just long enough to fight his eyes open and clock the look of dazed adoration on Harry's face as he realises he's done it. He's actually fucking done it. 

“Good boy. Well  _ done,  _ Eggsy, good boy.” And _oh_ , if Harry keeps talking like that he's going to undo all their hard work no matter how hard eggsy is trying, but he closes his hand and times his slick movements with words to drown out the horror hanging over. “Come now. It's alright, you can come for me. There you go.” 

The orgasm eggsy had no hope whatever of avoiding bursts through him in a hot cascade of sensations he can't pin down: tingles and sparks and bliss and sheer bloody relief, powering through his body and zeroing back in to his cock, taking all day about it but still over way too soon and he's coming,  _ fuck _ , he's coming, properly, sweet perfect release that makes his toes curl and his back arch up as his cock spurts thick ropes of it up his belly, onto his chest, over Harry’s hand and Harry works him through every drawn out second. It ends like a bolt of lightning going to ground through him, brutal and final. His cock twitches itself to empty softness and his body slowly unwinds back down into the bed, weeks’ worth of tension wrung out. He slows from strained gasping into a steady pant, and it’s the first he knows of the fact he was doing it at all.

In Eggsy’s head, under his skin is just sweet blissful static. White noise. He basks in it for -  how long?… a couple of seconds? A minute? Longer? He can’t tell - before cracking an eye open to greet reality again.

Harry grins at him warmly, but somehow there's still that hint of condescension. “Better?”

Eggsy opens the other eye and squints at him.

See, that was a mistake. He could have just told him what a good boy he was, rolled him over and fucked him, and they’d have been out being reasonable clothed human beings and not crazed rutting animals by lunchtime, but now he’s given Eggsy another bloody point to prove.

Because Harry was right about something: in a good mood Eggsy can be up and running again in no time flat, but it takes him much, much longer to come a second time, once he's shot a load off.  Longer than it takes Harry from a standing start, for example. Longer, much longer, than Harry needs on the end of Eggsy’s prick to get his, which could have negated the entire fucking problem in the first place... if Harry had just had a bit of patience. 

It might just be about time he learned some.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I'm in the process of more Hartwin of varying genres and smut levels. Feel free to come inspire or hassle me on Tumblr - randomactsofviolence.
> 
> I'm always super grateful for feedback and hearing about your thoughts/wishes/expectations may spur me on!


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